


The Boy Who Dissapeared

by Folle



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Michael will NOT tolerate you turning off Scoobey Doo, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 06:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14129790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folle/pseuds/Folle
Summary: You find yourself with the most unlikely of roommates after moving into 707 Meridian Avenue, Haddonfield, Illinois. However, like all roommates, he is just as insufferable as the rest.





	The Boy Who Dissapeared

**Author's Note:**

> For an anon on tumblr who requested Michael Myers fluff :^) hope you enjoy

Growing up in Haddonfield, you heard rumors about the old Myers house like everyone did. There was a massacre there, the place was haunted by ghosts, it was a portal to hell, etc.… Just your typical kid stuff. But you… The place never seemed scary to you, in fact, it was your little haven away from the rest of the world when you were younger. The sheriff long since has stopped hauling you in for breaking and entering, because it never stopped you, and it’s not like your parents cared enough.

People thought it was little more than tagging, but you created God damn murals on the inside of the place. You had big plans that one day, this place would belong to you, so you repaired it little by little. It was a project that kept you sane and grounded.

But then you graduated high school, and went away to college. You came back a different person than the child who grew up spray painting walls of abandoned homes. But the first thing you did when you came back was march straight up to the sheriff’s office, and wear an insufferable smirk as he placed the keys and deed to the house in your hands

You heard more rumors, of course. That Michael Myers came back and murdered people, people you were once friends with that were now cold in the ground. But You threw that all out of your mind, and hired a crew to help make the home livable again. You didn’t really want to, but you eventually had to paint over those murals you made all those years ago.

You got everything updated, and the house may not have been perfect, but it was homey and livable. There was one room you didn’t use. You fixed it up, of course, new floor, doors, windows, and wallpaper, but you kept it locked at all times, and hid the key on top of the molding. It was Michael Myer’s old room. According to the police report, he was dead, but you were given a friendly warning from a man called Loomis that Michael could still be around.

You gathered as much from the kitchen knife stabbed into your bedroom door. It seemed to you that you had a mysterious roommate.

But he never did anything, at least anything that a normal roommate wouldn’t do. He never cleaned his dirty dishes, left mud (and was that blood?) tracks on the floor, and left water on the floor of the bathroom. You never saw him, so you couldn’t rat him out for anything, but you played your cards right and carefully.

It was pretty late at night when you returned from work that day. Usually, you were asleep, but the office needed you to stay late to do whatever. You just wanted to take a nice hot shower, and curl up in bed, it was a Friday after all. But lo and behold, the shower was being used. It wouldn’t have bothered you on any other night, but something about him using the shower when you wanted to particularly drove you crazy.

As quietly as you could, you cracked the door open enough to get a good look in. His mask was on the sink counter, but on the floor, close to the door, was his balled-up clothes. A jumpsuit, shirt, and underwear from the looks of it. They were so filthy you could smell the body odor and blood from where you were crouched. You slipped an arm in and pulled them out, a wicked smile on your face.

You already had a load of laundry you needed to do anyways, so you silently padded downstairs, and threw his clothes in, and started the load. He must have heard it, because the shower stopped, and soon afterwards you could clearly hear a mirror shattering.

You, of course, snicker and go back upstairs. “Oh Michael, you’re home. Great to finally see you bud. Did you have a nice show-” You pause in your tracks in the living room at the sight of Michael, a quite muscular man, wearing his mask and your fuzzy robe that only barely fit him. You knew this man was capable of killing you in an instant, but you break down laughing. “God, if I die now this was so worth it.

He strides over, and with barely any effort, he pins you to the wall by your throat. Your legs kick uselessly under you, but he holds you just loosely enough that you could breath. He didn’t say anything, not that you would expect that from such a quiet man.

“They’re in the wash. Do you even realize how bad they smelled?” When he sets you down instead of responding, you rub your neck and shake your head. “Yeah, of course you didn’t. And you’re welcome by the way, since you don’t know how to clean up any of your messes.”

Michael stares at you blankly through that mask of hid, but you swear you see a bit of guilt. Wishful thinking. “Listen, this is your house, I won’t argue that, but I also live here now, but the only way you’re getting rid of me is killing me. And if we’re going to be roommates, you better clean up your own messes.”

He walks away, and into, and you can hear water running. You peer inside, and find him washing the dishes he left. It makes you smile, and as you go upstairs to take a nap, you shout down a reminder to turn off all the lights before he leaves.

Things from then on were more peaceful, so to speak. Michael didn’t hide himself away like he used to, and although he still didn’t clean the floor, he did do his dishes, which was a step in the right direction. However, with that came the came the fact that you never got to watch what you wanted on TV. All h ever wanted to watch were old Saturday morning cartoons, or black and white horror movies. Classic, but it got old very quickly.

“Hey Mikey, don’t you ever want to watch anything else?” you asked him one day, lounging on the couch next to him while he sat stock still. It was already dark out on your day off, and all you had really done today was putz around the house, do a little cleaning, and trying to talk with Michael. He never spoke back, of course, but you always try.

He turned to shoot you a look, before turning back to face the TV. Today in particular, he was watching Scooby Doo, which you never really had a problem with, but you just really wanted to watch some nonsensical action movie or something for once. It was getting close to December, so you knew they would have a Die Hard movie playing. But getting to the remote, which remained glued to Michael’s side when he was home, would be difficult.

You tested the waters a bit by scooting closer to him, inch by inch, and then carefully laying your head on his shoulder. He looks down at you for a moment, but returns to watching the TV. You weren’t even sure that would fly, yet here you are, touching Michael for the first time. His arm isn’t soft at all, just hard, wired muscles that are so incredibly stiff and tense. You slowly reach your arm around his back, and even though he doesn’t turn his head, you know he’s looking down at you. His entire body is wound up tighter that a clock.

You suddenly lunge and grab the remote, and pull away. Michael grabs you by your legs, desperately reaching for the remote. But you lock your knees, and keep him away the best you can, laughing the entire time. But you couldn’t withstand him forever, so you mash buttons and chuck the remote. The TV flickers over to Jumanji, and you let out a triumphant cheer.

Michael quickly overpowers you after that, pinning your wrists down to the couch, but you didn’t care much. Both of you were panting, and you couldn’t get rid of the grin on your face. “Do whatever you want, it’s too late. I’ve already won.”

This close, you could see past the shade of his mask, and catch a glimpse of his eyes. They are such a dark shade of blue that they almost look black. The intensity of them drains all good humor from you. It’s hard to forget sometimes that Michael is a serial killer, but being trapped under him like this is an unpleasant reminder. Even with his full body weight being pressed against you, he doesn’t feel warm.

It’s an odd feeling, and you aren’t sure how you should feel. You know you should be scared, but that feeling is absent in you. Michael holds your wrists above your head with one hand, and with the other, he carefully folds up his latex mask, just enough to expose his mouth. It’s more than you’ve ever seen. There’s light scruff on his face, and his lips are chapped, and very, very pink.

Time moves in slow motion as Michael leans down and carefully places his lips over yours.

It makes your heart flutter, and you can’t help but close your eyes as you move your lips against his. You were just taking a wild guess, but you think that you must be Michael’s first kiss, and the thought excites you. His lips are unsure and clumsy against yours, but you’re okay with that.

You never really thought about Michael like this before in the nine months you had been roommates, but clearly, he had. You restrain yourself, much more than you’d like to. There’s no use is scaring him away when he had given you such a large amount of trust.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless again, but for an entirely different reason. A small, faint smile is on your face, but his is blank, just like his mask, which he quickly pulls back down.

“If that was your way of saying you like me, well, then, I like you too,” you tell him, voice barely above a whisper. His grasp against your wrists go lax, and you swiftly pull them out, and carefully fold his mask back up, pulling him down into another kiss.

He willingly lets you pull him down against you. With your bodies pressed flushed against each other, and a hand gently holding onto the faux hair of his mask. His hands wander awkwardly before he decides on your shoulder blades, press you closer to him.

Michael pulls away again, but instead of getting up, or leaving, like you expected him to, he lays his head against your chest, and shuffles to get comfortable. His eyes become glued to the TV screen yet again, and you have to stifle a laugh.

You two lay like that for a while, until all the other lights in the neighborhood blink off, and you can hear a faint snore come from Michael.

“Sweet dreams Mikey,” you whisper, before closing your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> so, uh, the title comes from the fact that when i was little, i loved jumanji, but i could never pronounce it, so i called it the boy who disappeared. yeah, have fun with that fact


End file.
